01 March 2006

Fat Tuesday

It's the sixth anniversary of the demise of my dear old Papa, so I'm
glugging champagne - in his honour obviously. Perhaps my old liver will peg
out too then, I'll join him.
Anyway, I'm not here to get sentimental - there are bigger fish to
fry...Childhood obesity - I do hate that word....not childhood - the other
one. Call a spade a spade. Juvenile monstrosity...Well anyway, I've come up
with the solution. During the ad break on Men and Motors, I hit upon the
best way to get these little porkers to stop noshing. Fear, that's what's
called for. My proposal for curing the nation's nibblers is to interrupt C
Beebies with a public information announcement. Cherie Blair is suitably
witchy to do it. Dressed in black robes...she's got some, and sharpening a
big knife, she must announce that on 10th August, all children will be
weighed. Any child exceeding the prescribed weight for their height and age
group will have bits chopped off until they make the grade. Ears, fingers,
toes...if that doesn't do it, arms and legs must be sacrificed in the name
of balancing the books. This advertisement must appear every ten minutes, as
well as being broadcast on the wireless, and put on the side of
crisps...billboards as well. Show them we mean business. A proper public
health warning. That's my advice.

On another matter, may I be the first tiresome cynic to try to denigrate the
new Wembley Stadium, by coming up with a facetious name for it. I think it
resembles a giant handbag. Of course, if 'The Handbag' became the name for
the national stadium....for the next hundred years, it might have a
demoralizing effect on our national side, then we'd never win anything - not
that we do; and football and footballers would slide into obscurity, and
they wouldn't be role models, and children would behave better, and eat
less, and the world would be a better place. That's what I think anyway, and
this is my blog, and nobody apart from you reads it. The Handbag. You read
it here first.

Might go to Hastings tomorrow to look at properties. It's cheap and by the
sea. Terrible place apparently, filled with the worst sorts - so I should
fit in. I had another idea. I will buy a barn in the countryside, and
convert it. The expensive thing in this is getting planning permission to
change it from agricultural to residential use. Yet again, I've come up with
a cheap solution. I will get myself reclassified as a farmyard animal. If
you knew me, you'd realize it's not impossible. Wish me luck, and enjoy your
pancakes. I've had twenty nine, and my kids have had seven hundred - covered
with chocolate and jam. Roll on August 10.


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